


paper thin

by sarcasticfishes



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Getting Together, Multi, Overhearing Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 23:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19734025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: Shane’s new neighbors are a morning-sex kind of couple.





	paper thin

**Author's Note:**

> here's another 8k of me being a self-indulgent fool aka, what if ryan and sara were the couple instead? i'm sure this is a hot mess. 
> 
> [here's a floorplan of the two apartments](https://66.media.tumblr.com/9a7d5e4038e3812354c8954c574288fb/tumblr_puc9yxEWFt1wnws84o1_1280.png) if anyone needs a visual (i sure did, hence why i drew one).

Shane’s new neighbors are a morning-sex kind of couple.

He will admit that at first, it had been really funny, and kind of hot — their bedroom on the other side of his kitchen wall, their sounds filling the silence of his apartment as he makes his coffee, louder when he opens his window to let in some air (because they do too).

It doesn’t bother him all that much because he’s never met them, never gotten off to them (at least, not in real time), and he doubts he’ll ever even speak to them — the most he knows about them is that the guy _must_ be called Ryan (or so he has intuited from the shouting). He has no qualms about drinking his coffee, playing some quiet chill-hop while he gets ready in the morning, occasionally accompanied by the gentle thud of a bed frame that probably needs replacing, and even softer moans. It’s… nice.

And yes, sometimes it’s lonely, but there’s nothing physically stopping Shane from going out and meeting someone to hook up with. He’s taller than most women and men, which he knows makes up a large part of his appeal, and he’s sure he isn’t _awful_ to look at either. But at the same time, for Shane, there’s just something so unsatisfying about a random, unattached fuck. He wants to enjoy it, wants his partner to enjoy it, and call him a petty romantic but he wants that tenderness of afterglow to swallow him whole. 

So, for now, it’s just going to be Shane alone, and the faceless voices next door; Ryan, and Ryan’s girl.

.

Obi, Shane thinks, is a terrible brat. 

(He’s not, honestly. He’s maybe the best cat in the world, but Shane just wishes he’d stop trying to escape onto the balcony.) 

Shane’s not even sure when Obi learned to push open the kitchen window, but he must have because it’s opened twice as wide as to how Shane left it when he went to get dressed. Most worryingly, there’s no sign of his cat.

“Obi?” he opens the balcony door. “You out here, boy?”

“Oh,” a surprised little voice says, and unless Obi learned to speak in the last few minutes, Shane’s just about ready to throw himself over the rail. There’s only one neighbor he shares this balcony with. 

“He’s yours?”

She’s the girlfriend, she _has_ to be.

She’s barefoot on the concrete, tiny, definitely a good foot shorter than Shane himself, maybe more. She looks up at him with round green eyes behind circular glasses, dark shoulder-length curls framing her face, slightly askew, her small frame wrapped in a soft toweling bathrobe. And Obi, the traitor, is tucked up against her chest, butting his face into her hand as she pets him.

“That’s weird,” Shane says, “He usually doesn’t like other people.”

“I bribed him with a piece of leftover tuna roll,” she admits, nose wrinkling in embarrassment. “I thought he might have come from one of the upper balconies or climbed up here, I dunno. Sorry about that.”

Shane, previously frozen on the spot, finds it in himself to step up to the small fence separating them as she leans towards him, shifting Obi off her chest to hand over to him.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he mumbles, as he bundles a squirmy orange cat into his arms, his mind racing at a hundred miles a minute.

“Cool,” she says. “So you’re the neighbor? I’m Sara.”

“Shane,” he croaks and shifts Obi around to extend his hand to her. The cat climbs happily up onto his shoulder and perches there, purring loudly in Shane’s right ear. _Traitor,_ he thinks, _this is unforgivable._

“How come we never see you out here?” She asks, gesturing to their shared balcony, and Shane shrugs a little, itches his nose where Obi’s tail keeps slapping him in the face. He’s very aware of the fact that he’s dressed for work and now covered in cat hair, and Sara’s standing there in apparently nothing but her robe.

“Oh, you know, Winter’s on its way,” Shane shrugs, as though he can’t use his balcony in the Fall in LA. “Guess I never had much of a reason to be out here, and I try to keep Obi in because I don’t want him trying to climb down.”

“Obi? Like Star Wars?”

“Sure,” Shane says. “Let’s go with that.”

Sara laughs at him, shaking her head a little bit.

“Alright, Shane. It was nice to meet you, but I have to get ready for work.”

“Likewise,” he agrees. “I’ll see you around.”

Sara steps back in through her sliding door, and Shane stands there for a moment, stunned, until Obi begins to squirm again, and Shane remembers he has a job to get to.

And, he’s still covered in cat hair.

.

So, Ryan and Sara are a morning-sex kind of couple. Not every single morning of course, but at least twice a week, sometimes three, sometimes more. Not always loud and energetic, sometimes hardly even audible at all, but something in Shane just _knows._

He had thought that once he put a face to the sounds it would make him feel bad about listening to them, or thinking about them, but he finds he doesn’t feel bad at all. He doesn’t _want to_ be that gross, pervy guy next door. It just kind of happens.

It doesn’t help that he can picture Sara now, and knows just how pretty she is first thing in the morning, flushed cheeks under the frames of her glasses and raven hair catching the early rays of sunlight. It _certainly_ doesn’t help that he knows just how tiny she is, how easy it would be to move her around underneath him, above him.

The _slightly_ infuriating thing is that he still had no idea who Ryan is, what he looks like. Shane has heard him talk, sometimes through the wall or an open window, the clearest being a morning where he’d bid Sara a hasty goodbye as she stood outside. Shane, too shy to peek out and say hello, had stood at his kitchen counter and silently drank his coffee.

“I gotta go. Love you,” Ryan had said, low and quiet, a little bit of a nasal tone to his voice, but not unpleasant. Then followed a pause where Shane was sure he was kissing Sara’s cheek, her soft response, and the noise of the door sliding shut again.

.

The lobby of the apartment building is empty when Shane comes in after a late night at work, and he takes a detour to check his mailbox for anything that might have come during the day. It’s empty, bar a letter from his optometrist (likely reminding him he’s due for an eye test), and he’s about to leave and take the elevator up to his floor when he hears whistling, and the sound of footsteps in the stairwell.

One of Shane’s neighbors appears, hopping down the last few steps of the stairs. Shane’s seen him around before, admired from afar; shorter than Shane (which is really no feat at all), but well built. Nice rounded shoulders, big arms. Today his dark hair is pushed underneath a ballcap, but all it does is draw attention to the squareness of the guy’s jaw, and the stubble peppering it. He’s cute at a glance, and then really fucking handsome the longer Shane looks at him.

When Shane realizes Cute Guy is making his way towards the mailboxes, he carefully closes and locks his own box again, tucking the junk mail into the inside pocket of his jacket, along with his keys as he takes a step back. He expects Cute Guy to maybe give him a courteous smile or a curt little wave of acknowledgment, the kind you give your nameless neighbors in a city like this. What he doesn’t expect is;

“Oh, hey. I think we’re neighbors.”

Shane’s stomach plummets. He _knows_ that voice. “Uh,” he says.

“I mean, I guess everybody in this building is our neighbor, right? I think I live next door to you. I’m Ryan.”

And just like that, Ryan has a face. A rather attractive one.

Shane looks down to see Ryan’s hand outstretched to him and blinks, responding a few seconds too late. He grasps Ryan’s hand, warm and soft, and squeezes gently.

“Sorry, that was rude,” he apologizes. “I’m just got in from work and my brain is a bit frazzled. I’m Shane. Yeah, I think we might be neighbors.”

“I live with Sara,” Ryan nods, “She mentioned she met you the other morning.”

“She abducted my cat,” Shane says, flatly, and Ryan laughs aloud, slapping a hand against his chest. “Lured him in with a tuna roll.”

“Yep, that’s my girl,” Ryan says, almost apologetically. “She loves cats.”

“Not a cat person?” Shane asks, and watches as Ryan shrugs.

“I have allergies, and I’m a huge baby about it.” He says it with the cadence of a man who’s been told he’s ‘a huge baby about it’, and Shane licks his lips, fighting a grin. Ryan carefully slips past him to get to his mailbox, and Shane’s not sure why he waits, but he does. Ryan pulls a neat little stack of letters from his mailbox and tucks them under his arm, locking the tiny door again.

“You wanna walk up?” Ryan asks, flashing his teeth in another wide smile. “Since we’re right next door to one another.”

Shane, who was planning on taking the elevator and then passing out from exhaustion on his couch, nods. For some awful reason, he wants to keep talking to Ryan. He follows him up the stairs.

.

It’s a Thursday morning when Shane breaks. He’s pouring his coffee as he hears the window next door open up, his own already cracked an inch or so as to not let Obi out again.

“—just letting some air in," Ryan says, quietly. His voice is a little rough with sleep. Sara responds with something but Shane can only hear her muffled through the wall. Ryan replies with an "Mm, yeah? Tell me about it," and the floor creaks as he moves away from the window. Shane's stomach clenches in anticipation, like a sixth sense ( _sex sense_ , his brain supplies unhelpfully). It's not long before he hears Sara's first moan, and by then he's already half hard. He takes a sip of coffee to calm himself and it burns his mouth a little. 

He puts down his coffee cup when Ryan, always a little louder and unashamed, clearly says "Like that?" and Sara moans again. Shane can't stop himself from reaching down, pressing his palm over the bulge of his cock in his sweatpants. With the kitchen counter and the wall between them, he thinks they must be less than three feet away from him, and hates that he wants to lean in, press his ear up against the wall and listen. Hates that he wants all of Sara's noises, and Ryan’s too. 

It's not difficult to let himself daydream and get carried away. He thinks about Ryan's fingers on the banister as they'd climbed the stairs together, slender fingers and neat fingernails. It's not hard to imagine him pressing them into Sara, his hand between her legs, drawing each little sigh out of her. Shane wonders if Ryan is hard the way he is, if he’s already desperate for it as he feels her slick heat around his fingers. 

Sara's getting noisier, higher moans coupled with Ryan's quiet mumble as he talks to her, and Shane's hand flexes at the waistband of his sweatpants. It'd be so easy for him to get off. Now, more so than ever, he can picture them together, picture the way Sara gasps and squirms under Ryan's body, the way she clutches at his broad shoulders, the way he curls around her, his bicep flexing as he fingers her. 

Sara is loud when she comes, almost a shriek before it melts away into a satisfied giggle, panting _yes, fuck, oh god,_ as she catches her breath. There’s a few moments silence where Shane thinks about just jumping into a cold shower and getting to work early, but his resolve is already so weak when he hears her again, softer this time, coupled with Ryan’s deeper groan.

Shane’s always had a creative imagination, which he is often thankful for, but at this moment he is entirely cursed by the image that comes to mind. He imagines Ryan turning Sara over onto her belly, sliding into her from behind, and replays that sound in his head again. She must be so wet, so tight around him. There’s a gentle tapping sound, the head of the bed against the wall, Ryan’s little grunts that get louder and needier as he gets closer, the constant hum of Sara talking, encouraging, punctuated with a hiccuping moan now and again when he nails her just right.

Shane can’t take it anymore, needs to touch himself, but it feels like a dangerous line to cross. He’s never gotten himself off _while_ listening to them before. Granted, he doesn’t think that it’s any more morally aware of him to jerk off _afterward_ and think about them, but there’s still a distinction somewhere in his mind. Now, he knows what they look like. He’s met them. Spoken to them. Shook their hands. All while knowing what they sound like when they come.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and — feet practically rooted to the kitchen tile — shoves down the waist of his sweatpants to free his cock, sighing as it springs up to meet his hand. He’s already wet, almost dripping. Still, he wishes it was slicker, and spitting into his hand helps but he’s not about to start keeping lube in the kitchen. That might be a step too far.

His free hand on the countertop, he can feel the slight vibration through the wall, Ryan’s thrusts rocking the whole bed. Shane bites down on his lip to keep quiet, strokes himself in time and tries to stop his legs from shaking. It’s been a while since he’s felt this way, this kind of need that fills his entire body. He wonders what it feels like for Ryan, just how hot and slippery Sara is around him, and when he hears her cry out in the next room, his stomach clenches and there’s a gush of precome over his fist, the wet noise of his strokes getting louder.

Sara says “harder, _please,_ ” and Shane strokes himself harder, tighter. For a moment, he imagines it’s him on the bed, holding Sara’s hips in his hands and pulling her back on his cock, filling her up, but then he hears Ryan’s moan and the picture changes, like flipping over a channel. Ryan underneath him, a broad back and smooth brown skin, pushing back against Shane’s thrusts like he wants him deeper. This image feels somehow even more forbidden; Shane doesn’t even know if Ryan likes men, or if he’d even want to be fucked. But he can’t help thinking about it. 

Maybe, if he asked nicely, Ryan would fuck him. Maybe he could have Sara beneath him, Ryan behind him, both of them pulling and pushing him any way they wanted, using him for their pleasure. It’s like a punch to the gut, realizing how much he wants that, how much he wants to be thoroughly wrecked by them.

If Ryan makes a noise when he comes, Shane doesn’t hear it, just the clapping of the headboard becoming a little more frantic, Sara’s words muffled but her tone full of a mixture of pleading and praise. _Please, please come in me, I wanna feel it,_ and _Yes, that’s it. That’s so good. **Ryan.**_

There’s a sharp tug in Shane’s stomach, and he covers his mouth as he groans, coming over his own knuckles at the sound of Sara’s praise, at her begging. He fucks into the tight channel of his fist, hips twitching forward like he can’t help it. It feels too good. 

After a moment there’s a loud creak, like Ryan’s collapsing down onto the bed. Shane wipes his hand off on a paper towel and tucks his dick away. His hand shakes when he reaches for his coffee, abandoned on the counter, and it’s cooled enough that he takes a sip.

There’s the sound of a lock, and a door sliding back, Sara’s voice out on the balcony.

“Do you want to have breakfast out here?” and then “Are you asleep again? _Ryan_.”

Ryan mumbles something that makes Sara laugh, and Shane closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as the guilt flows through him. He wants to be out there on that balcony. He wants to have breakfast and get domestic with these two people he barely knows.

It’s a little bit pathetic.

He drains the last of his coffee and sets his cup in the sink, and then goes to get ready for work.

.

After that, Shane makes more of an effort to be a better person. Unfortunately, this involves a lot of avoiding his kitchen/living area in the mornings. He eats breakfast in bed under the guise of calling it ‘self-care’, Obi curling up on his shins and waiting patiently for scraps of bacon or buttery toast.

Sara and Ryan are warm and friendly people, saying hello when they see him in the hall, in the lobby, on the balcony. Shane tries to play it as cool as he can, but he really does love talking to them, learning tidbits about their daily lives, inwardly pleased when they ask about him too. One night he even smokes with them on the balcony, spends a good hour talking about nothing and everything with them, but retreats quietly when they start getting handsy, Ryan pulling Sara into his lap in one of their patio chairs.

(Okay, so he’s not always successful when it comes to the whole Not Listening To Your Neighbors Having Sex thing.)

He ends up hosting a small get-together for his work friends one Saturday night. Nothing too rowdy, just some drinks and trash TV after they wrap up a particularly long project. They order in pizza and Shane has his kitchen stocked with a truly shocking amount of alcohol, and most of them end up staying late into the night. Andrew falls asleep on the couch at around 3am, and Shane drapes a blanket over him before stumbling to bed himself. 

He doesn’t think too much about it until he catches Ryan on the stairs a couple of days later, and Ryan smiles up at him.

“So, those walls are paper thin, huh?” Ryan says, and Shane almost trips up several steps, throwing his hand out to brace himself on the banister.

“Wh- huh?” he croaks, and if anything, Ryan’s grin grows even wider.

“Steady there, big guy,” he says. “You had a party the other night or something? Sounded fun.”

“Oh,” Shane says, and feels his cheeks get hot as he flushes. “Yeah, just some work friends came over for drinks. I’m sorry if we were too loud.”

“Oh nah, don’t worry about it,” Ryan laughs, and then tilts his head just so slightly. There’s a very pretty pink bruise at the hinge of his jaw, and Shane has to tear his eyes away from it. He wants to sink his teeth in, make it deep and dark, and it’s while he thinks about what the sound of Ryan’s groans would feel like against his lips that he realizes Ryan’s been speaking to him and Shane has not been listening.

“Sorry. I spaced.”

Ryan shrugs a little, unbothered. “I was just saying that Sara and I probably aren’t the quietest of neighbors,” he admits, chewing at the inside of his lower lip. They reach the top of the stairs together.

“You guys are great neighbors,” Shane protests. “I’ve got no complaints.”

“Nah I’m sure you’ve heard us being loud before,” Ryan says, so easily that it almost trips Shane up for a second time. _Panic_ , his brain screams. _Get to your apartment. Never leave again._ “We’ll call it even.”

Shane gapes like a Big Mouth Billy Bass.

“Oh. Oh, sure. I— uh.”

Ryan stops at the door of his apartment and fishes his keys out of his pocket.

“To be clear, we’re not complaining either,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. “Just glad you had some fun. Seems like you deserve it.”

It takes Shane a full ten seconds to realize that Ryan is probably talking about the party. Ryan opens the door and down the corridor, Shane can hear some TV show playing and the sounds of Sara rattling around in the kitchen. It’s comforting. Sounds like coming home.

“Have a good night, man,” Ryan says, as friendly as ever. Shane just nods and gives Ryan a short wave as he makes the final few steps towards his own front door. His heart is pounding in his ears, and he can’t stop thinking about the hickey on Ryan’s neck. Where else there might be bite marks on his body.

His apartment is quiet.

.

On one hand, Shane is concerned that he’s misinterpreting Ryan’s intentions. On the other hand, he’s concerned that he’s not misinterpreting at all. Now that they’ve heard Shane’s friends making noise through the wall, surely they must know that Shane has heard _them._ There’s a difference — in Shane’s opinion, at least — between hearing someone in their kitchen, and hearing them in their bedroom. Yet Ryan didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by it at all. And Shane, despite all his best self preservational skills, can’t help but wonder what Sara thinks.

He gets his answer a couple of nights later. It’s a particularly warm evening, so he is (of course) sitting in his kitchen with the windows open — more recently he’d invested in screens so that he could open his windows wider without the fear of Obi escaping and causing trouble. He spends most of the evening working on a document for work, quietly tapping away at his keyboard until the sun begins to go down and it gets a little darker and cooler out.

It gets dark in his kitchen and Shane, engrossed in his work, doesn’t get up to turn on the light.

As he’s finishing up his doc, a treatment waiting for approval before they send it to the client, he hears the familiar noise of Sara and Ryan’s sliding door opening up, and then Sara’s soft humming as she arranges the furniture.

Shane has seen her sitting out there before during the evenings with her sketchpad, drawing quietly, sometimes sipping a glass of wine. She’s playing some music as she sits, quiet enough that he can hear her humming along with it, a playlist she’s obviously listened to many times before. 

It’s a little later when Ryan joins her outside, asking “Make room?” and Shane hears the creak of their single sun lounger as it supports the weight of two bodies now. Shane does one last proof of his document and then clicks save. He checks his emails one more time, reluctant to move from the kitchen but unsure why. Sara’s music is still playing, but neither she nor Ryan speak. If Shane were to crane his neck, or even stand up, he could probably see them, but he won’t. He has no new emails, but he refreshes the page anyway.

It’s almost like a reward, validation, when he hears Sara say, “Hey, we shouldn’t.”

“Mm, why not?” Ryan asks, muted, and Shane pictures him with his face tucked in against Sara’s neck, nibbling at the skin until it’s pink.

“What— What if Shane’s home?”

Shane’s whole body goes still, something like a chill but better running down his spine. He doesn’t move an inch. He doesn’t even dare breathe. Ryan is quiet for a moment.

“His lights are off,” Ryan says, “and even if he was home I doubt he could see us from here.”

(To reiterate: Shane would, even if he just stood up from his chair, absolutely be able to see them.

The noise Sara makes isn’t quite a moan, but still a noise of pleasure.

“His windows are open, Ryan,” she says, breathless.

“Then you’d better be quiet,” Ryan returns, not unkindly, but he does something that makes Sara gasp and whimper. The lounger creaks and Shane almost jumps out of his skin.

“Yeah, ok,” she says.

Shane looks at his laptop screen and takes in absolutely none of what he’s seeing. He’s not sure if he’s looking at his email inbox or his twitter feed or even his youtube homepage.

Shane’s not used to _these_ quietersounds, instead familiar with the way they like to be loud in their own bedroom. He blinks, and the words in front of him swim again. He listens, and he can hear Sara’s slow and steady breathing, pocked with the occasional gasp or sigh.

“Love this dress on you,” Ryan says, unexpectedly, and clears his throat when his voice comes out husky and thick with arousal.

“S’comfy,” Sara says. “Soft.”

“Easy access,” Ryan adds, and Shane can hear Sara’s giggle, followed by her moan. “That’s not being quiet, babe.”

“ _You’re_ not being quiet, you dick,” Sara says, breathily. Shane’s desperate just to look up, just to try to get a glimpse at what she’s wearing, what they’re doing. But even just the thought of it, setting eyes on them together, is almost too much for him. He closes his eyes when the glare of his laptop screen becomes too harsh.

“Yeah, but _I_ don’t care about being overheard,” Ryan retorts and must do something cruel judging by the way Sara whines like she can’t even hold the noise in. “ _God_ , you make such pretty sounds, Sara, fuck.”

 _She really does_ , Shane thinks. He puts his head in his hands, can feel the way his dick presses up against the fly of his jeans.

“Wouldn’t you just love it if someone saw you right now?” Ryan murmurs, “Spread wide open— oh, fuck, _oh,_ you like that, hmm? I felt that.”

“Fuck,” Sara says, and Shane nearly echoes her, has to press his fist to his mouth to keep it in. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and his hips twitch upward as though of their own accord. His chair scrapes the floor and he freezes, praying that they didn’t hear him.

“You feel so good,” Ryan says, and Shane barely has enough time to think _he’s inside her right now_ , before he follows up with, “—love fucking you like this.”

Shane is, when it comes to these two, a very weak man. His hand falls to his lap, and he grips himself over his jeans, just squeezing enough to feel it, enough that it has him wanting to fuck up into something tight and warm.

He tries to picture them, furious that he can’t quite imagine just what’s happening. It’s easier when they’re in bed, on the other side of their kitchen wall, when they’re likely naked and all wrapped up in sheets. He can tell the difference now, the way it sounds when Sara’s riding Ryan, or when he has her on her back or on her knees, and he hates that he knows it. But now, somehow, the tiny details he’s been given make it even harder to form a clear picture.

“Close already? You’re so fucking easy,” Ryan sighs, and the lounger makes a noise of protest when he moves.

“ _You’re_ easy,” Sara snaps back at him, but her voice trembles. She sounds incredibly close. “God, that’s— right there, that’s good. Don’t stop.”

“Bossy.”

“ _Fuck_ me.”

Shane listens to the faintest noises of shuffling, cut through with Sara’s moans as they become strained and then breathy, until she’s just panting loudly into the air. He thinks they might just be distracted enough that he could push his chair back. He could stand up. He could leave, let them finish in peace. 

He could look.

He—

He doesn’t.

He sits there and listens to the way Sara’s gasps get frantic as she comes, and Ryan swears under his breath.

Shane doesn’t believe in a higher power, but he’s sure this is a kind of cosmic torture designed specifically for him.

When they’re done, Sara turns up her music a little more, and Shane takes the opportunity to walk as silently but as quickly as possible to his bedroom. So far, hearing Ryan and Sara in the morning has meant that Shane still had to go to work afterward and force himself to think about something else. Now it’s barely 9pm, and Shane has the rest of the night to think about what he’s just been privy to.

He doesn’t sleep very much that night.

.

Shane had kind of expected, after his conversation with Ryan, that Ryan and Sara would start being a little quieter during the mornings. He now wonders if he’s been somewhat foolish to think so.

.

There’s a slip of card tucked in under Shane’s door; On the front, a hand-drawn coffin with the number thirty on it, and inside a handwritten message in a neat script.

_You are cordially invited to the death of Ryan’s 20s._

According to the rest of the message, Ryan’s 30th birthday party is on Friday night in the apartment, and Shane is undoubtedly invited. He spends most of the week staunchly not thinking about it, and then on Thursday evening has a mini-meltdown about what to wear. He wears a button down and jeans to work every day, so that’s pretty much shoved into the ‘boring’ category of his brain, even though it’s one of the few combos he feels that he looks really good in. By lunchtime on Friday, he’s absolutely tanking at trying to stay calm and ends up clocking out early so he can go home and try to relax, maybe take a nap or jerk off.

On his way into the lobby of the building, he runs into Ryan who’s lifting crates of beer into the elevator. Ryan grins at him, big and bright as ever.

“Hey there,” he says and holds the elevator door for Shane with his foot.

“Hi,” Shane smiles, a little breathless because this obviously isn’t Ryan’s first trip down, and he’s just the damp kind of sweaty that makes something in Shane’s lower belly pull tight. “Hey, Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you,” Ryan’s grin seems to grow even wider, impossibly so. “It was yesterday, but no one likes to party on a Thursday, y’know?”

Shane nods in agreement, but his brain is suddenly replaying everything he’d heard through the wall the night before and shouting ‘ _Birthday sex! Birthday sex!’_ in the most unhelpful manner.

“You coming tonight?” Ryan asks, and Shane shoulders his bag a little, scuffs his foot against the ground like a schoolboy. “Sara said she shoved an invite under your door.” The elevator opens, and they step out.

“Yeah,” Shane smiles, “It was really cute.”

“She’s great,” Ryan says. “She’s a little pissed that she can’t joke about me being her twenty-something boy-toy anymore.”

“She’s older than you?”

“Not as much as she likes to pretend,” Ryan smiles fondly as he comes to a stop at his door, and Shane hesitates to keep moving. There’s always something about Ryan that has Shane wanting to linger just that little bit longer than necessary.

“You need any help setting up?” he asks, and Ryan shakes his head but looks genuinely pleased by the offer.

“Nah, don’t worry, man. This is the last of the booze, and Sara and I are about to head into town to pick up the food and some decorations.”

“You sure?” Shane smiles back at him. “Nothing I can do or bring?”

“Yeah,” Ryan leans on the door to open it, and never breaks eye contact. “Just bring yourself.”

When he gets back to the apartment, Shane needs a fifteen-minute cool shower before he can even think straight. He takes a nap for a good hour and a half and then showers again — thoroughly — because he’d apparently worked up a sweat in his sleep. He makes something to eat and by the time he’s ready to go get dressed, he can already hear some low music playing from next door and some chatter coming through the walls.

Finally, he decides to wear some cuffed jeans with some sneakers and a short-sleeved button-up that he’s never worn to the office but definitely worn during a hookup or two. It’s casual and flattering enough to garner attention, though why he’s hoping to attract attention, he’s not entirely sure. What would even come of it?

.

Ryan greets him almost the moment he steps in the door, which is surprising because the place is so packed that Shane isn’t even sure how Ryan got to him so quickly. Next thing he knows, there’s a beer in his hand and he’s being steered into the kitchen.

The apartment has the exact same layout as Shane’s, but there’s just something much homey about it, much cozier, and Shane doesn’t think it’s just the fact that it’s stuffed to the gills with people. 

He meets Ryan’s friend Steven and finds out that Steven knows some of the guys Shane works with. He talks with some of Sara’s friends, at least two of whom are giving him Vibes that he just can’t return (he’s holding out, even though he knows it’s pointless). And then Sara herself corners him in the kitchen, obviously tipsy, and gets distracted tracing the pattern of the flowers on Shane’s shirt with the tip of her index finger. Shane drinks to cope, but not excessively. 

It’s 2am, and people are in Ryan and Sara’s bedroom, and smoking on the balcony. It’s 3am, and Shane is in the kitchen, watching a stream of guys and girls line up to give Ryan birthday smooches — Sara swooping in at the end to pull him into a deep, showy kiss that knocks his party hat right off. It’s 4am, and Shane thinks he should move from the couch while he watches Ryan say goodbye to the last of his guests and lead them down the hallway, but Sara’s getting him a glass of water, and they’d been having a very important conversation about Pacific Rim that he’s eager to continue.

When Sara gets back to the couch, she hands Shane his glass of water, and then sprawls right over the couch next to him, slinging her leg over his thigh. Shane tries not to freeze up, but her dress is so short that it’s an automatic reaction.

“Ryan’s that host who keeps you talking at the door ten minutes after you try to leave,” She says, with great affection, and Shane takes a deep drink of his water. He feels it, cold, as it slides down his throat to his belly. His thigh is burning hot where Sara rests against him. “I heard he apologized to you for our noise. We can get kind of loud.”

Shane’s face feels like it’s on fire. 

“Oh,” he breathes, “Yeah, he— he did. But I told him it was fine. You guys are fine.” Shane stutters and then goes to take another drink. The strap of Sara’s dress is falling off her shoulder, and he could fix it. Or he could pull it down further. He grips his glass tighter to stop himself from doing something stupid.

Sara giggles, and it might be the sweetest sound Shane’s ever heard. “Are you sure? Our last neighbors hated us, the ones from before we moved in here.”

“I, uh, it’s fine,” Shane clears his throat and is trying to take another sip of water when Sara gently takes the glass from him and sets it aside. She’s not wearing her glasses tonight, and Shane’s finding it particularly hard to hold her gaze without crumbling. 

“Really,” he says, “I hardly notice.”

“But you _do_ notice.”

In contrast to the heat of his furious blush, Shane feels a chill go down his spine (or maybe it’s a thrill). He has nothing to do with his hands, so he lets his palm fall onto Sara’s leg, and tries not to lose his mind over how easily his fingers span the width of her thigh.

“You know how thin the walls are,” he says, and can’t stop looking at her bare shoulder, the fallen strap, even as Ryan walks back into the room.

Sara looks past Shane at her boyfriend, and smiles.

“I told you he was listening,” she says, and Shane feels that sharp pull in his belly, a mixture of fear and arousal. Sara’s gaze snaps to his again when she speaks. “I told you he likes it.”

Ryan is still wearing a party hat atop his head, and he quietly takes it off and sets it down on the kitchen table. He makes his way to the couch and sits down on the coffee table, right between Shane’s knees; Shane might be trapped, but it’s not the worst feeling in the world. Sara shifts next to him so that she’s leaning into his shoulder, curling into his side. Ryan seems to only have eyes for Shane.

“Is that true?” Ryan asks.

“Um,” Shane says, and then thinks about the night he’d heard them together on the balcony. Ryan telling Sara she’d better be quiet lest Shane would hear them, and then both of them being decidedly unquiet. He’s not sure how else he’s supposed to interpret all of this — this _escalation_. He takes a breath. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Ryan leans back on the palms of his hands, and Shane’s just tipsy enough that he allows himself to look at the swell of Ryan’s arms and chest in his t-shirt, the way it clings to him. He feels Sara touch the side of his face, fingertips against his jaw, and he leans into the touch, eyes falling closed for just a moment until Ryan speaks again.

“Is it just Sara?” Ryan asks, “Or is it me too?”

He’s asking: do you want _us,_ or just _her._ Shane lets his grip on Sara’s leg tighten just a touch, and hears her gasp close to his ear, but he can’t take his eyes off of Ryan. So earnest. So fuckable.

“It’s— both, both of you,” he says, “Of course—”

Ryan’s up off the table before Shane can even finish the sentence, climbing into Shane’s lap to kiss him.

Shane’s brain freezes up but his body knows what to do, because when he finally registers what’s happening, he’s already kissing Ryan back, already has a hand in Ryan’s hair, guiding him into a deeper kiss.

“Almost like it’s _my_ birthday,” Sara says, brightly, and Shane can feel Ryan smile against his mouth, more teeth than lip in the kiss, and he takes the opportunity to catch his breath.

“Fuck, are we— what are we doing?”

“I dunno, thought we could fuck around a bit now, talk about it later,” Ryan mumbles, and kisses Shane’s neck as Shane turns to get a look at Sara.

“Are you alright with that?” She asks him, and Shane’s stomach flips. 

“Yeah, I— I really want that,” He says, and sighs when Ryan nips at his neck, grinding down into Shane’s lap. “Do you?”

Sara smiles at him, her hand cupping his cheek again as she leans in, pressing her lips to his. Shane can feel Ryan’s hand spread over his belly, short sucking kisses pressed to his neck and then to the soft spot below his jawline, and to the corner of his lips. Shane is 34 years old, and has his first three-way-kiss, feeling like he’s practically crumbling apart, softened under their touch.

Ryan says, “We can take this to the bedroom,” and Shane can’t think of any place he’d rather be.

.

When he seems at a loss for how to move forward, once they’re all naked, Sara looks at him and says, “Do you want to watch for a bit? There’s no pressure here, Shane.”

Shane thinks he’s had enough of standing on the sidelines.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, and looks to Ryan — it’s his birthday after all.

“So many things,” Ryan grins at him, “But I wouldn’t be mad if anyone wanted to suck my dick right now.”

“The absolute worst,” Sara mutters under her breath, and when Shane laughs she says it again louder. “You’re the worst.”

Ryan’s lounging on the bed, resting on his elbows, one knee bent. He looks indulgent, like a Greek sculpture. Shane’s mouth is already watering.

“I can do that,” he says, already crawling between Ryan’s thighs, dipping his head to lick a stripe up the length of his cock. Ryan’s hips twitch, a little needy, as though he’s holding back from just rutting right up against Shane’s face. Shane takes him into his mouth, as much as he can handle, lips stinging and stretching at the corners as he sinks down.

“Fuck,” Ryan says, and when Shane looks up, Sara is holding him, stroking his belly with one hand and pinching a nipple with the other. They’ve barely begun, and Ryan looks a wreck already.

Shane works him over nice and slow, a tight grip at the base of Ryan’s cock. He pulls back a little each time Ryan gets too needy and bucks into Shane’s mouth, and he catches Sara’s eye and shares in her delight. Shane knows if it were him on the receiving end of this particular blowjob, he’d be a writhing, stricken mess too.

“Want me to make him come?” Shane asks Sara, when Ryan seems particularly close, straining against both of them.

“Not yet,” Sara smiles, and kisses Ryan’s temple. Shane immediately lets go of Ryan’s dick, letting it slap back against his belly.

“Fuck you,” Ryan pants, even as he grins.

“Would you like to?” Shane asks, and grins as the couple both stare up at him in shock. “Fuck me, I mean.”

“So, you’re just perfect, huh?” Sara asks him, and Shane winks at her.

“It’s a serious offer by the way,” Shane adds, as Ryan is pulling himself back into a sitting position, still panting a little.

“God I’d love to but I’m absolutely going to blow if anyone so much as breathes on me.”

As much as Shane would love to see Ryan come all over himself on a hair-trigger, he doesn’t want this to be over just yet.

“Hit the bench,” Sara tells Ryan, “I’ll take it from here.”

Both Shane and Ryan laugh as she rises to her knees making her way over to Shane, a condom between her fingers — Shane’s not entirely sure when she picked that up. Carefully, she rolls it down over his cock, climbing into his lap almost as soon as she’s done.

“Need a warmup?” Shane asks her, because he kind of wants to use his mouth some more, and Sara responds by guiding his cockhead right to her opening.

“Nope,” she says, and slides down onto him, tight but so fucking wet.

“Christ,” Shane says, and on the bed, Ryan groans as he watches, hands fisted in the covers either side of his hips. Sara moans back in response, and it’s so strange to hear it in such close proximity. Shane can almost hear how it would sound if he was standing in his kitchen. All those mornings he spent, white-knuckled at his kitchen sink, feel like nothing compared to the real thing.

Sara starts to ride him, slowly, like she’s adjusting to the girth, and she’s small enough in his arms that he can lift her, helping her rise and fall again onto his cock.

“Fuck,” Ryan says, “You look so great together. God. Knew you would.”

The bed shifts beneath them as Ryan moves closer, coming up behind Shane. Ryan’s hands spread out over his ribs, and he feels lips against his shoulderblade.

“Yeah?” Shane asks, because the thought of Ryan picturing this, picturing Shane and Sara together, is hotter than anything he can imagine.

“Mm,” Ryan hums, affirmatively, and Shane feels teeth now against his skin, gasps at the sharp sting of a bite. “You’re just… so big.”

“He is,” Sara agrees, and Shane can feel the way she starts to shake as she rides him, and he puts more effort back into helping her. Ryan’s chin nestles in the crook of Shane’s neck, and Shane is effectively sandwiched between them, held in place by Ryan’s hands and Sara’s thighs.

“Feels good?” Ryan questions, and Sara bites her lip as she nods. 

“You close?” Shane asks, as Ryan asks, “Are you going to come?” and Sara huffs out a little laugh, nodding again, resting her forehead down against Shane’s collarbone in concentration. Ryan’s hands come around Shane’s stomach, sliding down between Shane and Sara’s bodies. Sara’s already working her clit as Shane fucks up into her, but Ryan seems eager to help anyway, his fingers stroking at her where they’re joined, sometimes circling the base of Shane’s cock, sometimes spreading Sara wider as he sinks into her.

Shane keeps his hand at the small of her back, holding her steady as she starts to come, surging forward to bury her face in Shane’s neck.

“That’s it,” Ryan says, and Shane wonders if he can feel her pulsing from the outside too.

It would be so easy for Shane just to lay her down onto the bed, rut into her just a handful more times until he comes, still feeling her aftershocks as she twitches around him. He could get there so quickly, feeling her like this. But he’s too damn greedy.

When Sara starts to squirm away from Ryan’s touch, Shane helps her down onto the bed, kisses her softly as he pulls out.

Ryan’s sitting at the edge of the bed, slowly stroking himself now that he’s come back from the edge, a little more relaxed. He watches Shane roll off the condom and toss it aside into a nearby wastebasket between the bed and the nightstand.

Shane lays all his cards out on the table.

“To reiterate, I was serious about you fucking me,” Shane says, and Ryan looks over, vaguely surprised.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, well,” Shane scratches the side of his face. “I was either gonna come here tonight, finally make a move, and then hopefully get railed—”

Sara makes a quiet noise of interest, even with her eyes closed, head resting against the pillow.

“Or I was gonna go home and fuck myself stupid thinking about you both anyway. Either way, I’m ready.”

Ryan makes a show of dragging his teeth over his lower lip, and then says, “There’s lube in the drawer beside you.”

Shane grabs the lube without a second thought, and climbs onto the bed on his belly, pushing his hips up towards Ryan. 

Ryan barely gets two fingers in him before Shane is squirming, clenching around him. He seems to really know what he’s doing though, he crooks his fingers right against Shane’s sweet spot, has him whining into the sheets in just moments.

“Next time you can do me,” Ryan says, as he slides a third finger in, and Shane gasps into the crook of his own arm. There’s a hand in his hair, and when he looks up Sara is smiling down at him, and she strokes his cheek gently.

“ _Fuck_ , Ryan,” he groans, “That’s enough, c’mon. Put it in.”

“Romantic,” Sara snorts, and catches Ryan’s eye as she smirks. There’s some rustling behind Shane, Ryan getting ready, kneeling up behind him. Shane braces himself on his forearms, head hung as Ryan starts to push in, and Sara strokes the back of his neck soothingly.

“You good?” She asks him, and Shane presses his face to the sheets to stop his body trembling. He always forgets how _deep_ it feels when it’s someone else fucking him, when he’s not in control.

“Yeah,” he answers, and Ryan makes a quiet, pleased noise as he bottoms out, as deep as he can go. “It’s. A lot.”

“I have a question,” Ryan says.

“Right now?” Shane grunts, and Ryan gives him a slow, drawn-out thrust. Easy out, easy back in. Shane feels Sara’s nails against his scalp and shudders.

“Yeah, now,” Ryan sighs, and Shane really shouldn’t be so surprised that Ryan’s a talker. He’s heard it all before, after all.

“Don’t torture him, babe,” Sara says, and her voice is a little tight with what sounds to Shane like arousal. 

“I just wanna know—” Ryan’s hands slide up Shane’s back to his shoulders, pulling Shane back on his cock, “—how long you’ve been wanting this for? Be honest.”

Shane groans; he feels so full, he can barely think.

“Fuck,” he sighs, and Ryan grinds in, the fingers against Shane’s back flexing. “Longer than— Longer than I’ve even known your names,” he admits. He doesn’t imagine it when Ryan thrusts into him a little harder at the admission.

“Just listening to two strangers through a wall, dying to be fucked by them? Little slutty of you, Shane.”

Shane’s cheeks burn, and he pushes his face into the sheets again.

“Just wanted you, is all,” he says, and Sara gasps quietly. He tilts his head to look over at her, finds her with her hand between her legs, looking right back at him as she touches herself. That urge from before comes back, his mouth wetter as he thinks about getting his tongue on her, in her. He just wants a taste.

“Sara,” he croaks, and instantly she’s edging towards him, just close enough that he can get his shoulders between her thighs.

“C’mere, let me—”

“Yeah,” Sara sighs and pushes her hips up towards Shane’s face. He curls his arms around her thighs, pulling her in tight, and Ryan swears under his breath behind them, doubling his efforts. Shane’s so achingly close and hasn’t even had his cock touched since Ryan began fucking him. Now, once again trapped between Sara and Ryan, he knows it won’t take much to make him come like this. He’s already so deeply satisfied.

He slips two fingers into Sara as he sucks insistently at her clit, and her back arches right off the bed, hands clutching at his head as she comes a second time. It’s the beginning of a chain reaction. Shane thinks he might die if he doesn’t get a hand on himself, and jerks himself in time to Ryan’s thrusts for less than ten goddamn seconds before he’s coming, much harder than he expected, insides going hot and tight around Ryan with each wave of pleasure that bursts through him.

“Oh, f— _fuck_ , Shane,” Ryan groans, and hilts himself one last time as he comes too, gripping Shane’s shoulders to keep him still as they both come down, joined deep, shaking. Shane rests his cheek against Sara’s thigh, panting quietly.

Ryan carefully pulls out, and Shane closes his eyes as Sara pets his hair. She mumbles something about going to the bathroom real quick, and Shane manages to roll away, avoiding the wet spot as he does. He doesn’t have the energy for much else.

The breeze coming in from the balcony feels good so he drifts, only coming back to reality when he feels something warm and damp on him, and opens an eye to Ryan cleaning his belly with a washcloth.

“Y’didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, someone had to,” Ryan sighs, and there’s something affectionate in the tone of his voice that Shane can’t quite place.

“I’m glad we did this,” Sara says softly, and the bed dips as she tucks herself in behind Shane, slipping an arm around his waist. The sun is rising, and Shane closes his eyes. When he feels lips against his own, he smiles and kisses back.

.

There’s noise coming from the other side of the wall, but Shane doesn’t crack an eye. He doesn’t even move when he hears his balcony door slide open, footsteps in his kitchen, soft muttering.

Sara pokes her head in the door of his bedroom.

“Hey, sleepyhead. It’s a beautiful morning, and we’ve got breakfast out on the balcony,” she says. Shane hears the sound of his coffee machine being turned on.

“You coming?” Ryan calls from the kitchen.

Shane reaches for his glasses on the nightstand, and can’t contain his grin.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m coming.”


End file.
